


Love: The Paradise Edition

by LazyWriterGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, holy shit I wrote smut at work, rarepair hell, somebody help not sure if this should be bumped up but the rest of the chapters may not be like this, wrote the first chapter at work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: There is no reason for this to exist except that I was listening to Lana Del Rey and so now you get a collection of 69 (lol) femslash one-shots. Each of which is titled after a Lana Del Rey song (starting from Born to Die and ending with Get Free, the first albums under her actual name aren't included). Watch her release a new album before this finishes.Anyway, have fun, the first chapter is Tharja x Sumia smut I wrote at work.Coming up next: Cordelia x Flavia (jazz singer/mob boss AU)





	Love: The Paradise Edition

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters involved unless otherwise stated. All characters present are property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems and please don't sue my ass because I have a mortgage and I'm only 23 and I can't afford a lawsuit k thanks.
> 
> All song lyrics and titles are property of Lana Del Rey and whichever studio owns the rights (I can't remember which it is).

_Come and take a walk on the wild side_  
_Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain_  
_You like your girls insane. – Lana Del Rey, Born to Die_

 

 

The visiting Plegian noble brings his daughter with him, and she is like nothing Sumia has ever seen.

Now, Sumia has been rather appreciative of the beauty of her fellow women on many an occasion, much to her mother’s chagrin. She knows that perhaps it isn’t what’s “typical”, but she’s not interested in being typical. And really, who could blame her? Her best friend and closest companion is considered by many to be so beautiful that she could not be human, and the woman who trains them in the art of flying pegasi is an admired member of court; not only for her impeccable manners, either. One her other friends is admired by and large by women of their age group—and even some far older—for her dynamic nature and great strength.

Sumia cannot help that she has such a great interest and admiration for beautiful women.

And the young lady is beautiful.

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise her then, what happens in the days, weeks, follow. Her mother has asked her to keep the Plegian lord’s daughter _amused_ , and Sumia is nothing if not a (mostly) obedient daughter. She takes the other young woman out and about, and slowly, slowly, instead of keeping themselves at a distance with their titles, they drop pretenses and begin to call each other by name. They become friends. 

And then something a little more.

Because her guest is beautiful, and poised, and a perfect young lady, even though underneath that veneer of respectability, Sumia can see a wildness to the other woman’s heart. The Plegian noble is beautiful, in her eyes.

Stunningly so.

 

 

So much so that the first time she pulls Sumia into a dark alley to lay kisses upon her neck, Sumia spends a full minute in simply admiring the other young woman’s face. After that, of course, she reciprocates as best she can. It’s gratifying when her guest moans her appreciation, and Sumia thinks she could get used to this.

It becomes something of a game between them. At first they stick to dark alleys and the shaded sides of abandoned buildings, sneaking kisses—and perhaps a bit more—in those small, secluded, secret places. It feels like…well, not a dream, but like something out of one of the many books she’s always clung to. Secret love—but she does not dare to name it such—hidden out of the view of a judgemental sun.

The first time her guest kisses her out in the open, they are on her family’s estate, far enough away that even the sunny side of the stables is out of sight.

“You’re insane,” she breathes as the Plegian noble’s elegant fingers drag lightly over lace ties. “Absolutely crazy.”

“Do you not like that about me?”

Sumia shivers at the lust in the other woman’s voice, but she can’t deny it. Her Plegian paramour may just very well be the slightest bit insane, but she doesn’t just like it. She loves it. Every time they go out together, the promise of some new adventure, no matter how short-lived, flashes before her. She loves every second of it.

 

 

  
As teeth scrape at the tenderness of her lower lip she thinks, perhaps, that this was not what her mother had had in mind when she’s suggested that Sumia amuse their guest. She almost shrugs, though her guest’s pale, cool hands are holding on to her shoulders in a grip that feels tight with want. After a moment, Sumia releases the thought of anything except _feeling_. Teeth leave her lip and she nearly moans her displeasure, only to squeal lightly as the warm mouth she’s missing settles against her neck, nipping. Playful.

 

There’s a scandal waiting in all of this, if they’re caught.

 

It’s all rather thrilling, in a scary, new sort of way that Sumia hasn’t ever felt before. And not because she’s completely new to this kind of…situation. Position. Her back presses harder against the alley wall, and she’s reminded that she’s never done anything quite like this, either.

“Eyes on me,” her partner breathes, voice heavy with desire and the slippery, sensuous curves of her Plegian accent. “Should we stop?”

“Sorry,” she murmurs back, and her eyes snap into focus; pale brown quivering, shaking against paler periwinkle-blue. “I want to keep going.” Her hands seem to act of their own accord, one tangling itself in long black hair as the other presses against her partner’s back, holding her close. They’re relatively similar in height, if not in build, but she’s slightly taller now, propped against the wall as she is.

“Hmm, so eager,” teases the Plegian noble, and Sumia feels fingertips sneaking under the folds of her blouse, deft movements pushing away useless, lacy fabric. The other, unoccupied hand falls to her breast. Squeezes.

“Tha-Tharja!”

Tharja is quick, her mouth surging up towards Sumia’s cutting off the sound of her name before it gets them found out. The hand leaves Sumia’s breast, and again she’s left wanting until she realizes where it’s going. There’s a faint ripping sound, and she knows she should protest, but then Tharja’s cool, quick hands are ghosting her thighs. She’s trembling.

“Shh,” Tharja teases, and Sumia’s glad that they’re tucked deep within the alley. Even with this distance, if she makes another sound they might—

“Tharja!”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” The other woman’s voice is smooth and soft, rich even as Sumia, emboldened, slips a hand up under Tharja’s loosened bodice. It’s surreal, the experience, but, guided by past encounters and a healthy amount of romance literature, she finds the small, hard bud she’s searching for and lets her fingers roll and knead. Tharja all but purrs.

 

At the dark, daring heaviness in Tharja’s eyes, she pinches. Pulls.

 

Her other hand works the ribbons keeping everything together, slipping each time Tharja’s fingers whisper against the sheerness of her smallclothes. There’s a feeling there, warm and tense and she just needs Tharja to press down, press down harder, godspleaserightthere and then—the mewl that falls from her lips is the loudest she’s been throughout it all, and she needs Tharja to feel it too. The tension is delicious even as it pulls, taut across her body like a curled spring.  
Without grace, perhaps, she drags a hand down, intent to exchange the feel of one small, sensitive bud for another, and as she reaches, as her fingers make their first tentative contact, she feels it. Hot. Wet. Unguarded, slick, and stiff. Small. Without meaning to, or perhaps with every intention, she flicks, and Tharja bites down, bites down against her skin. Bruising. Claiming.

“Play fair,” Tharja warns, letting her fingers run circles over cloth. Sumia arches, whimpers, fights to keep her thoughts straight as bodices and blouses loosen and she and Tharja can breath a little easier.

“L-like you’ve been doing?” She grins and moves her own fingers away. Grins harder when Tharja’s hips grind down, just a little closer. She can’t look away, can’t think of anything else to say until Tharja shifts and comes back down, taking one of Sumia’s fingers further, into her heat. The angle is bad.  
It’s glorious.

Hot.

Tight.

They gasp together, her other hand coming down to grip Tharja’s waist.

Tharja takes advantage of the moment and rolls a finger under and in and then Sumia’s head is spinning. “Okay?” Tharja’s voice is dry now. Amused.

“Very much so,” she manages, biting back a sound as Tharja pushes up, in. Experimenting. There’s a wicked grin on her face now, and Sumia wonders what she must look like. Half-dazed, pale under the pink heat on her face. She cants her hips upward, not by much, but Tharja’s finger remains. Moves with her. Pushes up, in, further. Again.

Again.

 _Again_.

She reacts in kind, thankful for her long, slightly awkward pianist hands as she pushes up with her finger. Down with her thumb. One of Tharja’s hands—the one not inside, up, rubbing, pushing—reaches for her neck, catching locks of ash-brown hair. There’s breath by her ear, then teeth, catching her unadorned skin. Gentle. Nipping. Still playful.

She pumps her hand, seeking rhythm. One, two. Chasing a metronome on an instrument far more intricate than her charming little piano. Tharja’s soft gasps and moans are the notes, and it’s possibly the best piece of music she’s ever played.

Tharja catches her on the offbeat, her less-occupied hand travelling from Sumia’s neck to her face, down to the warm wetness pooling, ruining Sumia’s smallclothes. The hand comes close, never quite joining its sister, and then it reaches for Sumia, that small, hard, sensitive part of her, and then fingers twist and tweak and oh but _gods_ above she’s sensitive; so much it almost hurts underneath the rush of pleasure.

Tharja seems able to tell, and gently, almost, she brings her mouth to Sumia’s and kisses her. Hard and wanting and hungry. For a brief second there are two fingers in her, up, pushing in tandem to a pattern she can’t follow, not quite matching her own consistent, slow strokes. Then the feeling is gone, and Tharja is looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes. She’s holding up the hand that isn’t still focused on driving Sumia crazy. One of Tharja’s long, clever fingers looks wet. Slick with _her_.

The world seems to slow as Tharja takes that finger into her mouth and sucks Sumia off of it, another wicked grin pinning to Sumia to the wall.

“Oh, Naga…”

“It’s only you and I here, Sumia,” Tharja says, and then her tongue is on Sumia’s again and there’s a taste to her. She’s tasting herself, and the realization hits her as Tharja adds another finger to the one that’s not stopped pushing, rolling, arching up into her. Sumia quivers, biting down because Tharja seems like a bit of a sting. Because she needs to silence herself.  
Spurred on by Sumia’s added boldness—as if this were not bold enough—Tharja laughs, throaty and inviting, and then she’s pumping her fingers harder and faster into Sumia. She can’t keep up, so she lets go, allowing the force of Tharja’s thrusting hand to press her closer to the alley wall. “Tharja, please.” There’s hot breath by her ear again and—

“Beg for it.” Tharja’s voice is heavier, desperate. “Gods, I want to hear you beg.”

So she does, and pride be damned. Suddenly, Tharja is everywhere; on her, in her, all around her, her presence more necessary than air. Tharja’s mouth sears, little marks appearing all over Sumia’s fair skin. She can’t think, reduced to grinding onto Tharja’s hand. Feeling dull thuds of pressure accompanying the sharper twangs of amazing anytime she goes down far enough to meet the heel of Tharja’s hand. Something cold hits her skin, but she barely feels the chill of it; any hotter and she would be sizzling, steaming against that sudden spot of cold.

Rain, she thinks belatedly as she tilts her head back against the wall, baring her neck for Tharja to bite and kiss and mark. IT’s raining and they’re going to get caught in it, and they’re going to have to head back to the manor with drenched hair and ruined clothes and—Tharja arches her fingers up and curls, aiming for something and hitting it just. Right. So _good_.  
Tharja is relentless now, driving curled fingers up at that same spot over and over again. She can feel herself gaping, hear her own frantic breathing. Tharja yanks her chin down and claims her mouth again as Sumia’s pleasure rolls over all her other senses. As if in answer the rain pours from the swollen clouds, bursts of cold drenching them as Sumia shivers, held up only by the alley wall and Tharja’s body flush against hers. She can’t think. Can’t breathe.

She presses a kiss on Tharja’s open mouth, fingers idling against the other woman’s inner thigh; slowly, she comes back down.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Tharja murmurs. There’s something softer in her voice now, something smooth and fond. "Sumia." Tharja wipes rain from Sumia's cheeks and pulls her closer, trading warmth through their proximity. A gentle touch of kiss-swollen lips.

Sumia’s head clears a little. Enough. “Your turn,” she slurs out after a second, because it’s only fair. Because she wants to. Because it’s raining and this is, quite frankly, insane, but she needs to do it. Want to. Tharja’s eyes widen and she backs away slowly, mouth falling open as if to protest. Sumia pushes off the wall and takes Tharja’s still-slick, sticky hand in hers.

Brings the graceful digits to her mouth, smiling at Tharja now.

Tasting herself off Tharja’s fingers as she pushes, gently, so that it’s Tharja’s turn to feel the alley’s now rain-slippery wall at her back. Tharja seems to like the sight, if the clench of her thighs against Sumia’s hand is any indication. She scratches gently, nonsense patterns. Tharja shivers.

Internally, Sumia feels a little panic. Sucking the taste of herself off Tharja’s fingers will only be sexy for so long before she needs to mix it up. Do something different. Humming to herself in thought, one of her hands wanders down the smoothness of Tharja’s lower back, stopping to grab at toned flesh. Tharja growls low in her chest, pleasure written in the curve of her smile as she beckons Sumia closer. Requesting a kiss.

She obliges, nipping her way into Tharja’s mouth with slow, studied movements. Her free hand comes up to Tharja’s face, and then she gets an idea. Still with the same maddening, deliberate slowness, she pulls her hand from Tharja’s face, chasing half-nervous fingertips with her lips. Tharja sighs, content to leave her to her exploration. So different from the wild hunger she’d used to push Sumia over the edge.

Sumia grumbles as fat raindrops plink-plink-plink on them, all around them, a cacophonous distraction as the rain hits the metal accents adorning the nearby shops, but she keeps to her work. Finds places where cold droplets remain on Tharja’s skin and bites, licks, knowing the heat of her mouth should feel good on rain-cool kin. Tharja half-groans her approval as Sumia’s fingertips race ahead of her mouth, leaving Sumia to gently nip at the hollow of Tharja’s neck as her hand lands on Tharja’s chest. The other woman’s heartbeat quickens under her hand. Her own matches the quicker pace, thudding in her ears.

She plays at chasing raindrops to a nonexistent pattern across Tharja’s collarbone, and then, without looking up, she brings her mouth to one of Tharja’s nipples as her free hand fondles and kneads, taking care of the other. The way that Tharja squirms is delightful, she thinks, and she ghosts her teeth over the hard little nub in her mouth once, twice, before switching her attentions over to the other side, repeating the process with a pace that’s clearly beginning to grind down Tharja’s surprising patience.

 

Then she continues down.

 

Tharja’s hands are on her shoulders, half pushing, half pulling, but she continues her descent, stopping only to press a warm kiss to Tharja’s stomach. Tharja shivers, and Sumia pauses.

Looks up.

There’s a dare in Tharja’s shaky smile and Sumia knows. They both know exactly what she’d doing. She’s on her knees. Pushing Tharja’s rain-heavy skirt aside, she sends up a quick prayer that just reading about this sort of thing will be enough that she doesn’t do it wrong, and then she leans forward. Braces her hands against the wall on either side of Tharja’s thighs, so that the other woman won’t fall over. She exhales slowly, breathing still a little ragged. Tharja trembles.

First contact; a curious lick offered from the bottom of Tharja’s sex to the top. Her tongue finds Tharja’s clit and swirls around it. Tharja’s taste is different from hers; diluted, perhaps, from the rain. She decides she likes it, offering another slow stroke of her tongue before backing away. She looks up at Tharja askance, small smile on her lips.

“Didn’t pick you for a tease, Sumia.” Gritted teeth and flushed cheeks.

“Wasn’t teasing,” she says, steeling herself against the cold, hard wet of the alley stones under her knees. Without another word she leans forward again, moving one of her hands off the wall to rest on Tharja’s thigh.

She breathes again, an exhale with intent, and she’s rewarded by one of Tharja’s hands in her hair. As her lips touch against hot, pulsing, swollen skin, she looks up again. Tharja’s hand is up by her face. She’s biting down on her thumb, hard enough to half-stifle the beautiful sounds she makes as Sumia’s tongue dart in, up, around. Tentative at first, then slowly, slowly faster. Tharja sighs. Moans.

The salt-sweet-tang-taste of Tharja coats her tongue. She feels evidence of what she’s doing rolling down her chin with a languorous slowness quite unlike the rain. Her fingers dig into Tharja’s thigh, and as she carefully, carefully includes her teeth, she feels the muscles under her hand tense. Spasm. Tharja’s legs buckles, and there’s a moment of readjustment as she slides down the wall just a little.

Confident now that she can keep Tharja upright, Sumia removes her other hand from the wall, dragging rain-slick knuckles around Tharja’s hip. “Sumia, gods, please.” The hand in her hair tightens, tugs, and she obliges with a hum of satisfaction that she’s sure Tharja can feel. Sumia’s hand joins her tongue after another heartbeat, and Tharja squirms, swears, canting her hips in time with the staccato of Sumia’s pumping fingers.

Satisfied with her rhythm now, Sumia’s mouth travels up; she ignores the annoyed grunt from Tharja and changes the rhythm again, faster and with harder thrusts as she tries to find Tharja’s sweet spot. She curls her fingers, searching, revelling in the slick tightness around her. Tharja’s voice picks up, but it isn’t enough. She’s not quite hitting the right spot just yet.

 

She finds it as she let her teeth graze Tharja’s clit, and her reward is Tharja’s long, low whine.

 

Proud of herself, she hums again, pleased when Tharja’s other hand falls to her hair as well, urging her forward. Encouraging. She loses the rhythm now, not that it really matters, and then Tharja’s hands are so tight in her hair and the woman above her is writing, rain still falling around them, over them, dripping off their eyelashes and splattering into new-formed puddles all around. Tharja twitches under her mouth, around her fingers, and then she feels a rush, hot and sticky, running over and around her hand and down her chin and she did this.

Made Tharja feel this good.

Tharja’s legs all but give out and Sumia half-catches, half-cradles her through the fall, holding on until they’re sit-squatting in the alley. Sated, but drenched to the bones with the chill of the Ylissean spring rain. Tharja’s hands stroke her hair now, gently tugging at the tangled curling locks. “Come here,” Tharja says, voice only a half-step above the gentling patters of the rain.

Sumia rises, bracing against Tharja himself. She can feel the hardness of Tharja’s nipples against her own breasts as she presses herself closer, seeking a kiss. Tharja sighs into her mouth and kisses back, tongue and teeth and lip. Tasting like herself, like rainwater, like the faintest whisper of Sumia still on the tip of her tongue.

 

The church bell rings out that it’s three in the afternoon and they’re late godsdamnit and yet it’s raining so perhaps her mother would believe if she said th—a sweet kiss quells her fears.

 

“Rest easy, Sumia.”

“How can you be so calm?” She’s incredulous, mostly, and still a bit dazed, if she’s honest. Perhaps a touch jealous that Tharja seems to have recovered so much more quickly. “If my mother—

Tharja silences her with another sweet kiss, hands rubbing her shoulders, warming the prickly-cold skin. She moans into it, aware that if this carries on for much longer she’ll want to go again, want to push Tharja to her limits over and over though they’re still huddled together in the back of a half-drowned, dingy little alley.

It’s almost imperceptible, the change she feels crawling over her skin. Warm little licks—all too reminiscent of Tharja’s mouth—caress her skin, and there’s a certain pulling feeling now. Her clothes, she realizes as Tharja somehow draws her closer, pulling her up. They manage to stand, legs still just the slightest bit shaky, she notices.

Her pride tingles in her chest even as she watches their clothes dry out and rearrange themselves, goaded by Tharja’s magic. Tharja looks amused now, lips curling with a smile even as Sumia runs a finger through her own now-dry hair, then Tharja’s. Sumia turns her face away as Tharja begins to fiddle with some ribbon or bow that hadn’t retied itself quite right, embarrassed now that the fire of the moment is gone; replaced by the half-shy honey glow of after.

She does her best to feign normalcy, trying not to gawp at the thing cover of magic that protects them from the rain. Her eyes catch glimpses of angry-looking red-purple marks mottling the pale of Tharja’s skin in very obvious, very telling places. She reaches, not sure if she can, if she can touch Tharja without overstepping, if this is okay—how silly of her to question, really—and then she’s pulling and rearranging and Tharja’s smile says it all.

 

It’s unlikely that their parents would approve of this, but Sumia can’t quite bring herself to care. Tharja is wild in her way, yes, and quiet, and mysterious, and yet outside of the things they do in private—and not so much in private, as this day can attest—she’s…such a comfort. Sumia almost can’t help it when she presses closer than she strictly needs to and claims Tharja’s lips with her own again. Possessive in a way she hadn’t known she could be. Sumia has never wanted so strongly or so much, and this seems to surprise even Tharja; the rain this them again, pouring hard as Sumia kisses and grabs and melds with Tharja again, not quite so wholly as before, but in a manner still satisfying. Still close.

When the surprise fades, Tharja holds her even closer, and then says, teasing and low in Sumia’s ear, “Wouldn’t you just die if your mother ever found out about this?” As if she could read all of Sumia’s thoughts. She probably can, and is just to polite to say anything.

Sumia pauses before she answers though, because perhaps Tharja is right, except that now she can’t imagine not having this. Doesn’t thinks she could stop herself from craving Tharja. Doesn’t want to. She breathes, and then she tugs Tharja’s chin forward, so the other woman cannot look away when she says, “Just shut up and kiss me again.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lol just gonna leave that here and run away. FInd me [ on Tumblr ](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com) if you'd like! I'm trying to be more social.


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